


Where Steve and Bucky Own a Coffee Shop (And Sam Just Wants a Cup of Coffee)

by sara_wolfe



Series: Versions of Us (We'll Always Have Each Other) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: 30-Day OTP Meme, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam looks down at the address printed in Jess’s tiny, neat handwriting, automatically memorizing it (childhood habit he can’t shake), and then her words catch up to him. “Wait a minute, Commando Coffee? This isn’t one of the bikini barista places, is it, because I’m not-”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Steve and Bucky Own a Coffee Shop (And Sam Just Wants a Cup of Coffee)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liron_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liron_aria/gifts).



> As is the case with most of my fic, this can be blamed on **Liron_aria**. Mostly because she challenged me to write Steve/Sam/Bucky, and my overactive imagination took it and completely ran away with the idea. So, yeah, all her fault.

Sam is pretty sure that the only thing getting him through law school is coffee. And not normal, human amounts either. No, he’s also pretty sure that by this point his blood is about eighty percent caffeine (the other twenty percent is stress and a slowly-developing ulcer).

The problem is actually finding decent coffee. He’s lost his taste for the liquid tar that he drank as a kid, when he was pulling all-nighters on research, but the stuff he gets from the shops is either so weak that it’s barely more than water, or it’s so sweet that it makes his teeth ache. And since all that liquid tar screwed up his taste buds, he can’t manage to sweeten his own coffee to save his life.

He’s gone through all the Starbucks and greasy spoons in the area and he’s about ready to give up and just eat instant coffee crystals like a pixy stick. Luckily for his impending ulcer, Jess steps in.

″Commando Coffee,” she says, slapping a scrap of paper down on his textbook.

Sam looks down at the address printed in Jess’s tiny, neat handwriting, automatically memorizing it (childhood habit he can’t shake), and then her words catch up to him. “Wait a minute, Commando Coffee? This isn’t one of the bikini barista places, is it, because I’m not-”

“Chill, Sam,” Jess laughs. “I wouldn’t send you to one of those places. Commando Coffee’s run by a group of inactive-duty soldiers and disabled vets. They named the shop after their unit, the Howling Commandos. They have the best damn coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“How come I’ve never heard of this place?” Sam asks, staring at the address. He walked past that address all the time, he must have passed it at least once a week.

“It’s a little hole in the wall place,” Jess shrugs. “They had a sign, but some thieves made off with it in the middle of the night a couple months back, and they just haven’t replaced it, yet.”

″So, do they have weird hours, or anything?″ Sam asks.

″Open twenty-four seven,″ Jess answers. ″They’ve got a small staff, but at least one person’s there all the time.″

″I’ll check it out,″ Sam promises. It can’t be any worse than the swill he’d been drinking, so far, right?

* * *

Jess’s little hole in the wall certainly fits the description. Small, bordering on painfully cramped, there are only three tables filling the space; clearly the owners don’t expect people to stick around for long. It’s a clean, quiet place, and Sam could easily see himself studying there, especially if it’s open all the time.

The shop is empty except for a guy with longish hair standing behind the counter. As Sam gets closer, he can also see that the guy’s missing an arm, a shiny metal prosthetic attached to his body at the shoulder. He glares at Sam as he approaches the counter, clearly expecting some kind of comment, but Sam’s seen too much while hunting to remark on a stranger’s fake arm (and his Teflon knees would out him as a hypocrite, anyway).

″What can I get you?″ the guy asks, all brisk efficiency as Sam stops in front of the counter.

″Coffee,″ Sam answers, without thinking, getting an eyeroll from the guy.

″Well, duh, Captain Obvious,″ he snarks, and a voice barks out from the back of the shop, ″Bucky!″

The guy – Bucky, apparently – doesn’t even blink at the reprimand. He just leans forward onto the counter and asks, in what he clearly thinks of as a patient tone, ″What kind of coffee do you want?″ There’s a bite to his words, and a falsely-sweet smile on his face, and he reminds Sam of Dean a little bit. (Except for the hair; Dean would tease this guy for his long hair as much as he teases Sam.)

″My friend, Jess, says that you guys have really good coffee,″ Sam says, rather than answering, stalling in an attempt to read the menu over Bucky’s shoulder.

As though invoking Jess’s name was some kind of secret code, Bucky’s whole demeanor changes. He gets an actual smile on his face on shifts so that he’s leaning less threateningly on the counter. ″Yeah, Jess is great,″ he says. ″So, what’cha want?″

″Um,″ Sam mutters, because the menu on the wall is just as confusing as the ones Starbucks puts out, and he just wants something to keep him awake while he practices his thesis defense and studies for bar exams. Maybe he should consider a caffeine IV.

Bucky sighs, but even though the sound is impatient, there’s something almost sympathetic in his eyes. ″Go sit down, I’ll surprise you.″

″Do you need my name?″ Sam blurts out, getting a raised eyebrow in reply.

″Why would I need that?″ Bucky asks.

″For the order,″ Sam answers, and this garners a derisive snort.

″You’re the only one in here,″ Bucky points out. ″Trust me. I think I’ll be able to find you, again.″

Sam goes over to the nearest empty table (less than two steps; he’s so glad he’s not claustrophobic) and waits for his coffee. About two minutes later, Bucky pops out from behind the counter and places a ceramic cup on an honest-to-god saucer in front of him. It’s filled to the brim with steaming coffee that smells absolutely delicious.

″Careful with the mug,″ Bucky tells him. ″Steve’s a traditionalist, and we’ve already lost three this week. Damn Odinson.″

Sam takes a cautious sip, and the coffee is completely, utterly perfect. It’s everything he’s been looking for, not too bitter, not too sweet, and he wants about a hundred more cups of the stuff. He absently wonders if it’s possible to get addicted to one taste.

There must be something telling on his face while he drinks, because Bucky’s got a smirk on his face as he watches Sam. ″Hey, Steve,″ he calls back, ″you’ve got another convert out here.″

″I’m in heaven,″ Sam confesses, and this startles a laugh out of Bucky. ″Can I get about a hundred more cups of this stuff?″

″Start with one,″ Bucky advises. ″You can always come back, you know. We’re not going anywhere.″

* * *

Sam becomes a regular fixture at the coffee shop. He’s there all hours of the day and night, and he gets to know pretty much everyone who works at the shop. Dum Dum and Jim work during the week to spend weekends with their families (Dum Dum’s granddaughters are the most adorable toddlers Sam’s ever seen). Gabriel turns out to be working on an engineering degree at Stanford; his schedule is just as erratic as Sam’s. Jacques runs deliveries (″Drives like a bat outta hell,″ Bucky tells him), and Montgomery does the books. Sometimes there’s Sam, who also works as a therapist out at the VA, and of course the ever-elusive Steve, who Sam has yet to meet, even after coming to the coffee shop for several weeks.

Bucky’s there almost all the time, no matter what time Sam’s there. He lurks behind the counter and just watches Sam working in the corner he staked out as his own. After the first couple of days, a lamp appeared on the table, brightening up the space Sam had claimed, but Bucky clammed up whenever Sam tried to ask him about it.

Sam wonders once if Bucky is flirting with him (the other man’s behavior is just as awkward as his own was when he was first getting to know Jess), but he just as quickly dismisses it. There’s no way that he could be that lucky, that someone like Bucky would be interested in him. (It’s also why he doesn’t ask Bucky out; Bucky could do so much better than him.)

Sam’s got books spread out all over the table, and he’s completely engrossed in the history of tort law, so he can be excused (a little bit) for not noticing Bucky looming over him with his usual scowl firmly in place (the guy moves like a ninja, okay? Sam can’t expected to hear ninjas). When he does notice the other man standing over him with his arms crossed, he very carefully doesn’t squeak in surprise (but only because Dean spent their childhood driving him insane the very same way.)

″What are you working on?″ Bucky asks.

″Tort law,″ Sam tells him, and then he just shrugs when Bucky looks at him curiously, because he’s been awake for three days straight and he’s not entirely sure he can make anything make sense right now.

Bucky sighs. ″When’s the last time you ate anything?″ he asks.

″Um-″

″I’m gonna take that as far too long,″ Bucky tells him. ″Look, you study, and I’ll be back with a plate.″

″A plate of what?″ Sam asks, as Bucky walks back behind the counter. ″Wait, you have food here?″

″Only for the people we like,″ Bucky tells him. ″Don’t spread the word around.″

He’s back in a couple of minutes with a sandwich and a glass of-

″Is that _milk_?″

″Man, shut up,″ Bucky groans. ″It’s three in the morning, the last thing you need is more coffee.″

″You coffee is my lifeblood,″ Sam says, fervently. ″And it may be the only thing keeping me conscious at this point.″

″The pace you’re keeping is going to kill you,″ Bucky tells him.

Sam snorts. ″I’m a law student. I’m fairly certain it was in the fine print.″

Bucky rolls his eyes. ″Eat your sandwich, Winchester.″

* * *

Sam’s crouching behind the counter looking for his textbooks. He’d dozed off while studying, again, and Bucky had completely overreacted to the dark circles under his eyes, and he’d hidden all of his materials. And then Bucky had accused him of not taking care of himself and told Sam that he’d get his stuff back after he’d slept. The problem is, Sam doesn’t have the time to sleep; if he can’t focus, he’s never going to graduate.

He doesn’t look up when he hears footsteps behind him; this late at night, the only person crazy enough to still be awake is Bucky. And if he looks at him, he’s going to have to see the disappointed look on the other man’s face as he guilts Sam into taking a nap. (Sam discovered shortly after meeting Bucky that the man’s practically lethal with the guilt tripping.)

″Bucky, c’mon, where are my books?″

″I’m not Bucky.″

Sam almost overbalances as he spins around in surprise, craning his head back to look at the new arrival. Tall, blonde, incredibly handsome (okay, Sam might be more tired than he thought if that’s the first thing that pops into his head) and he’s looking down at Sam with something like amusement on his face. The guy holds a hand out to pull Sam to his feet.

″I’m Steve,″ the guy introduces himself.

″Sam.″ He straightens up, biting back a grin as Steve has to take a small step back in order to look him in the eye. ″So, are you Steve, the guy who owns this joint?″

″Yup.″ The look on Steve’s face is hilariously incredulous, like he’s not used to dealing with people who are taller than him. ″Would that make you Sam, the guy Bucky’s always talking about?″

″Well, I’m practically living here – wait, what?″ Sam can’t actually believe what he’s hearing. ″What do you mean Bucky talks about me?″

″Oh, you know,″ Steve replies, grinning, ″Sam’s one of the smartest guy’s I’ve ever met, Sam’s gonna take over the Supreme Court one day, Sam’s butt looks really good in those dark jeans of his-″ Steve blushes, covering his face with his hands. ″Crap, I don’t think I was supposed to say that last one out loud.″

″Bucky, um-″ Sam’s honestly not sure how to respond to the revelation (except for the tiny part of him that’s jumping up and down in joy). ″Bucky likes my butt?″ (Okay, so that wasn’t what he was expecting to say.)

″Please don’t tell him I told you that,″ Steve mumbles, still hiding his face. It’s kind of adorable. (And now Sam’s confused as hell, because what is he doing thinking of Steve as cute – after all of two minutes, what the hell, Winchester? - when he’s got a crush of Bucky that he’s been trying so hard to ignore.)

″I – uh,″ Sam’s saved from answering by Bucky popping out of the back room with a box of napkins in his arms.

″Steve, the shop’s not gonna inventory itself,″ he says, but he’s grinning. ″Hey, Sam, you get any sleep?″

″-yes?″ Sam ventures, hesitantly, and Bucky just shakes his head.

″You’re impossible,″ he declares. ″I swear, when you finish your freaking defense, and that damn bar exam, I’m going to sit on you and make you sleep for a week.″

Sam’s tempted to tell Bucky to make him, but he knows that Bucky would hardly back away from the challenge, and it’s just the sleep deprivation talking, anyway. (Which is really just proving Bucky’s point for him, which is also why he’s not going to say anything.)

″Sleep sounds nice,″ he finally concedes, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

″Impossible,″ he mutters. ″You’re just like Steve,″ he adds, his tone making it more than clear that it’s not a compliment. ″I’m gonna go back to counting coffee stirrers. They don’t drive me crazy.″

″Eh, you love us anyway,″ Steve retorts, and Bucky gets an indulgent grin on his face as he leans over and kisses Steve. Right in front of Sam. After Steve let slip that Bucky’s been checking him out.

Sam’s more than a little confused.

* * *

He hates ties.

He hates wearing suits in general. Hates the starched feeling, hates the way he’s afraid to move in case he gets a wrinkle. (Hates the way suits automatically remind him of working a hunt, never good enough for John no matter what he did-)

But mostly he hates the tie that feels like a noose around his neck, hates that he can never do the knot the right way, either too loose or choking him. He reaches up to fiddle with the knot one more time, and then startles when Bucky steps in front of him and gently slaps his hands away from the tie.

″Stop it,″ he scolds, but he’s smiling and he sounds amused. ″Let me get this for you.″

″You can tie a tie?″ Sam asks, but the answer is more than obvious from the deft way Bucky’s hands are moving.

″I am a man of many talents,″ Bucky tells him. ″Relax, would ya? You’re gonna work yourself into a state and then how’re you gonna do your thesis defense?″

″You’re not going to your execution,″ Steve teases him, from where he’s working behind the counter.

″Too bad,″ Sam mutters, ″because I do some of my best work under threat of imminent death.″

When the other men go silent, Sam realizes that he’d said that last part out loud. And neither of them is likely to let it go. Sam’s already brainstorming plausible lies when Steve claps him on the shoulder.

″If you don’t want to tell us, we won’t bug you for details,″ Steve reassures him. ″We’ve all seen things we wish we hadn’t in combat. Some things you just can’t talk about.″

″Yeah,″ Sam agrees, and amazingly it seems like that’s all he needs to say.

* * *

″Keep your eyes closed.″

Sam has a hand clamped over his eyes, while Jess has her arm looped through his to lead him down the street.

″I already know we’re headed to the coffee shop,″ he tells her. ″Why do I have to have my eyes closed?″

″It’s a surprise,″ Jess retorts.

″I hate surprises,″ Sam reminds her. ″Remember when you decided to throw me a birthday party without telling me first, and I broke Brady’s nose after he jumped out at me from behind the couch? I’d like to avoid doing that, again.″

″Okay, fine,″ Jess concedes, with a sigh. ″You can open your eyes.″

″That’s all I ask,″ Sam replies.

They make it to the coffee shop a minute later. It’s immediately clear that Jess’s ‘surprise’ wouldn’t have been nearly as much of a disaster as his last birthday. No one’s hiding, for one, and the only thing out of the ordinary is the huge banner reading _'Congrats Sam!'_ hanging over the counter.

″You know, I haven’t actually heard my results, yet,″ Sam says, as he and Jess step into the shop.

″You passed,″ Bucky tells him, with a shrug. ″How could you not? Come on, enjoy your party.″

There’s food, music, and of course lots and lots of coffee. (Sam’s given up pretending his not addicted to the stuff.) Sam’s friends are there, the Commandos, even Dean and John for a couple of minutes before they ducked out on a hunt (John had promised that they’d come back for his graduation, and the fact that they’d even showed up in the first place was more than Sam could have dared hope for.)

Sam’s in the corner munching on a sandwich (he’s not hiding, per se, he just needs a minute to breathe) when Bucky and Steve wander over to join him. They’re both quiet as they help him hold up the wall.

″Congratulations,″ Steve offers after a minute. ″So, um-″

″Steve and I want to ask you something,″ Bucky adds, when Steve trails off. ″We, uh-″

″Is it illegal?″ Sam asks, taking pity (and no small amusement) on the fact that two grown men can’t manage to ask him one, simple question.

″Of course not!″ Steve sounds offended, and Bucky chuckles.

″Someone need a kidney?″ Sam guesses. ″Answer’s yes-″

″No one needs a kidney!″ Steve yelps, while Bucky just dissolves into laughter. ″Sam, we’re trying to ask you out on a date.″

″Me?″ Sam echoes, dumbly. ″We – uh, you – uh, _what_?″

″A date,″ Bucky replies. ″You know, dinner, movie, kissing, if that’s your thing.″

″But,″ Sam protests, ″I thought you two were-″

″We are,″ Bucky tells him. ″We want you to be a part of it, if you want.″

″How would it even work?″ Sam wonders.

Bucky’s smile gets bigger. ″Figuring that out is half the fun,″ he says.

″What do you say?″ Steve prompts, as Sam falls silent. ″If you need some time to think about it, we understand.″

″Yes,″ Sam says. ″Not to the time,″ he adds, quickly. ″To the date. Yes, I’d like to go on a date.″


End file.
